On a rainy day in Seattle stumble into any coffee shop and look wounded by the rain. Say, Last time I was in I left my black umbrella here. A waitress in a blue beret will pull a black umbrella from behind the counter and surrender it to you like a sword at your knighting. Unlike New Englanders, she'll never ask you to describe it, never ask what day you came in, she's intimate with rain and its appointments. Look positively reunited with this black umbrella and proceed to Belltown and Pike Place. Sip cappuccino at the Cowgirl Luncheonette on First Ave. Visit Buster selling tin salmon silhouettes undulant in the wind, nosing ever into the oncoming, meandering watery worlds, like you and the black umbrella, the one you will lose on purpose at the day's end so you can go the way you came into the world, wet looking.
“Black Umbrellas” ©1997 by Rick Agran